


Communication

by mific



Category: due South
Genre: Action/Adventure, Communication, Deaf Character, Fanfiction, Kissing, M/M, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: In which Ray and Fraser learn new ways to communicate, and someone from Diefenbaker's past helps out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feroxargentea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/gifts).



> Set later in Season 3. My recipient Feroxargentea suggested several prompts, and I've combined some aspects of two of them: "a story in which Dief's deafness/lipreading and a certain ghost's hearing both help save the day" and "so much of the relationship between Fraser and RayK is unspoken. At some point this lack of communication is going to catch up with them."  
> Huge thanks to verushka70 for beta reading.

******

 

When Ray heard Dief bark and turned to see Fraser approaching through the pedestrians on the busy sidewalk, Dief trotting at his heels, he was filled with relief.

He turned back to the agitated young woman who was impatiently brushing aside a strand of long, wind-blown dark hair from her face. "It's my partner. He'll know what to do." At least he knew enough to face her and speak clearly. She frowned and glanced past him, her eyes widening as she saw the red uniform. Her hands flashed a series of signs, just as Fraser joined them.

Fraser smiled and nodded, signing in response as he spoke for Ray's benefit. "Yes, I'm with the RCMP. Constable Benton Fraser. I'm from the Canadian Consulate—attached as liaison to Detective Vecchio here, from the 27th Precinct. Can I be of assistance?"

"Hoo boy, you sure can," Ray said, running a hand through his hair which was especially spiky due to some new gel stuff he was trying. Below him, Dief whined. "Oh, and this's Diefenbaker. He's deaf, too." Fraser had been signing in translation alongside him, and he paused slightly, then continued. "It's okay," Ray said. "Dief don't sign but he's real good at lip-reading."

The woman—he hadn't gotten her name yet—raised an eyebrow and somehow managed to sign something sarcastic. Fraser suppressed a smile. "Quite so. Four paws have their uses, but not for signing." He looked at Ray. "But what's the problem?"

"I got that she's Canadian, and she wants to make a complaint about something, but that's all."

Fraser nodded and began a rapid-fire exchange of signs, translating as he went. "Her name is Carlotta McCabe, and she's a clerical assistant here at a private pediatric clinic. She wants to lodge a complaint about her employer, a Dr. Vilkas. He runs the clinic." Fraser looked around and indicated with his chin. "That's it, the New Start clinic, across the road." The woman—Carlotta—nodded vigorously. Ray peered through the heavy traffic. He could just see a discreet brass plaque on the brickwork of the building, beside a set of glass doors.

Ray turned back to Fraser, frowning. "Well, ask her why don't she complain to the Medical Licensing thingy, then? Instead of coming to the Precinct and dragging me down here."

"Just talk to her normally Ray, and I'll translate." Fraser turned back to Carlotta and passed on the query.

She nodded, hands moving fluidly as she replied.

"Ms. McCabe says she's been working there three months—her partner got a residency at Northwestern Memorial Hospital and they came here together, from Toronto. But she's become concerned that there's something . . . wrong . . . at the clinic. Something criminal, she thinks."

Carlotta shot the New Start clinic a dark look and signed vehemently. Fraser frowned and looked across the street. "Ms. McCabe says she believes they're arranging illegal adoptions for people who've been turned down by the adoption authorities. They're brokering adoptions outside the system, and taking hefty fees."

Ray screwed up his face. "Thought the authorities _wanted_ to find homes for kids, you know, ones in foster care and that sort of thing?"

Signing all the while, Fraser replied. "Indeed, Ray, but there are certain baseline requirements. A criminal record presents a problem, for example." Carlotta nodded and signed some more. "Yes, I see. Ms. McCabe believes an illegal adoption was recently brokered for Ricky Lopez, a local drug dealer. That's what made her go to the police." More signing. Ray was getting a little dizzy watching their hands move.

Fraser turned to Ray, a complicated expression on his face. "Ms. McCabe is suggesting that we go undercover to unmask the clinic. That we pose as a couple seeking adoption."

Ray squinted at him. "You what?"

Fraser shrugged. "Illinois has recognized the right for gay couples to adopt since 1995, in theory. In practice, that was only two years ago, and it's not uncommon for gay couples to face discrimination."

"Can't we just pretend I got a criminal record?" Ray asked plaintively. He could fake that, easy.

Fraser nodded, signing busily. "Good point, we should do both, to be on the safe side." Carlotta clasped her hands, bouncing excitedly on her toes.

Ray rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on.

******

"Wait, wait," Ray said, disbelieving. "You're _okay_ about this?"

Harding Welsh leaned back in his swivel chair and folded his hands across his stomach. "You gotta admit, Vecchio, you've had plenty of undercover experience. And I got a memo from higher up the food chain to keep our eyes open for child traffickers. Seems to me an illegal adoption set-up is worth looking into."

"The Feds are leaning on us? But you hate the Feds sticking their noses in."

Welsh tipped his chair forward and stared at Ray, stabbing his finger down hard on his desk blotter to make the point. "Which is why you and Fraser here are gonna look into this New Age clinic and get the jump on the goddamn Feds. Am I right?"

Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah, New _Start_ clinic, Lieutenant."

Welsh waved a hand. "Yeah, whatever."

"But . . . but I ain't never gone undercover in drag," Ray said plaintively, sensing it was a lost cause.

" _I_ have, Ray," Fraser said reassuringly. Which was like the _opposite_ of reassuring, jeez. Ray gaped at him.

Welsh nodded. "You cleaned up real nice, Constable, if I do say so. Blue's definitely your color."

Fraser inclined his head modestly. "Thank you very much, sir. Sadly the RCMP prefers scarlet." He turned to Ray, who was still staring, open-mouthed. "But we won't be in drag, Ray. Not for this. Just ordinary clothes." He thought for a moment. "Perhaps a silk neck-scarf?"

"Take one of them miniature sausage dogs under your arm, Vecchio," Welsh suggested.

Ray's eyes narrowed as he stared from Welsh to Fraser. "You're messin' with me, right?"

Fraser's mouth twitched. "Just a tad, Ray. Dief would never tolerate you consorting with a lap-dog."

"He'd probably eat the damn thing," Ray said gloomily.

Fraser nodded. "Indeed, and we want to give the impression of having a child-friendly home."

"Hey, yeah, about that," Ray said. "What if they wanna check out our house or something?"

"They're bound to. Fraser's gonna have to stay with you till the job's wrapped up," Welsh said. "And you better tidy up that dump of yours. You got a spare bedroom for a kid?"

"I, what? No! It's got . . . stuff in it," Ray protested, waving his hands. His mind was still stuck on 'Fraser's gonna have to stay with you'.

Welsh glowered. "And by 'stuff' you mean?"

Ray shrugged. "Spares for the GTO. Hey, those doors were goin' real cheap, and the gearbox. You know how hard those things are to come by?"

Welsh rubbed his brow wearily. "Get the motor pool sergeant to store it for you for the duration."

"Those crooks? This is vintage–"

" _Vecchio_." Welsh's voice brooked no argument.

"Look on the bright side, Ray," Fraser said. "We'll be striking a blow for Gay Rights."

Ray sank his face in his hands. "Jeez, Fraser. Don't go talkin' about striking blows, you'll queer the op." There was a pregnant pause. Ray threw up his hands. "Oh, for _fuck's_ sake."

Welsh blew out a breath. "Get the hell outta here, Vecchio. And get a manicure. They ain't gonna believe you're gay if you got engine oil under your fingernails."

"Now you're just stereotripping me," Ray said, annoyed. "I can be gay and fix cars."

"He has a point, Lieutenant," Fraser agreed.

"Out, out!" shouted Welsh, and slammed the door after them.

"Well, fuck," Ray said.

"Oh, I don't think we'll need to go _quite_ that far for verisimilitude, Ray," Fraser said, with that butter-wouldn't-melt look that meant he was being a complete dick.

"You!" Ray said, shaking a finger in Fraser's face. "You . . . you _watch_ it, right? With the, the teasing." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. " 'cause I don't . . . I can't. Just . . . _watch_ it."

Fraser's face went blank. Then he lifted his chin and nodded. "Understood, Ray. My apologies."

Ray turned back to his desk, sighing. _No you fucking don't, Fraser. You don't understand a goddamn thing._

******

The clinic didn't smell wolf-friendly, in fact as soon as the elevator doors had opened on the third floor Dief noticed an unpleasant smell he associated with veterinary offices. Given that, he wasn't surprised by the turf battle that blew up as soon as the gray-furred older female noticed them. He watched the altercation with interest, looking from one to the other as he read their lips.

"Diefenbaker is an important part of our family, Nurse Perez," Fraser was saying firmly. He was standing up aggressively though, rocking forward a little on his toes, so it wasn't any surprise to Dief that the older female didn't back down. Why Fraser and Ray hadn't learned that sometimes you had to roll over and play nice, Dief would never understand. Dief wagged his tail to try to show that he at least wasn't challenging her authority.

The female defending her territory wasn't having any. She was large, slightly heavier than Fraser, and she smelled of harsh chemicals, metal and flowers. "Animals aren't allowed in clinical areas," she repeated. "It contravenes the health codes. We look after vulnerable young lives here, Mr.—" she glanced down at the bits of paper Fraser and Ray had spent far too long covering with writing, "—Benton."

Ray got into the skirmish now, so Dief figured it was pretty much a lost cause. "Look, lady. We're gonna be late for our appointment and we ain't got nowhere to leave Dief. Can't we just park him here?" Dief wagged some more, indicating his general trustworthiness.

"This dog can't possibly remain in the waiting room, Mr. Stanley," The female said, hackles rising. She'd be snarling in a moment. "What if it bit a child?"

"He would never do that, ma'am," Fraser said. "He's very fond of children." Dief gave a brisk, cheerful bark to confirm there were no hard feelings, even if she had called him a dog. He could be the bigger wolf.

"Yeah," Ray said. "Us too. We're all _real_ fond of kids." Dief regarded Ray dubiously. His smile was fake, and he smelled feisty, not submissive. Dief decided to pull out the big guns. He rolled onto his back, and whined to show the alpha bitch she'd won. That usually did the trick.

The female's face got even more pinched. "Oh dear God, why is that creature displaying itself like that? No, you really must—"

"Ah, Nurse Perez? Carlotta says she can help." Fraser was indicating a young female who was peeking out from a side-door, making signals with her paws. Dief recognized her smell—she was the one they'd met on the street not long ago. He sniffed interestedly: a delicious aroma of baked goods was wafting out from the room behind her. "She says she could take him back to the file room and mind him," Fraser said, "while we meet with Dr. Vilkas. Carlotta says she likes dogs." Dief wagged furiously to indicate his approval. A fan, and possibly doughnuts—he was happy to be called a dog in a good cause.

"Well, I don't—" The older female wasn't backing down that easily. Dief trotted over to the nice young one and sat neatly at her feet, radiating well-trained docility. He sniffed surreptitiously. Not doughnuts. Possibly cake? His tail thumped involuntarily.

A tall, thin man with a large nose and no fur at all on his head emerged from another door. He was peering down at more papers. "Mr. Benton and Mr. Stanley?" he said, then lifted his head and frowned. "I'm Dr. Vilkas. What's the delay?"

"My apologies," Fraser said, pressing paws with him. "We go everywhere with Diefenbaker—he's family. But Nurse Perez was telling us he's not allowed into the clinical area. Carlotta has kindly offered to look after him while we see you, however."

The tall man blinked. "That should be fine. Thank you, Carlotta. This way, gentlemen."

As Carlotta ushered Dief through the door, he could see the older female bare her teeth in frustration. The tall male hadn't seemed all that much of an alpha, but clearly he ruled the pack here. Dief caught a glimpse of Ray smirking before the door swung shut.

It didn't take Dief long to find the origin of the wonderful treat smell, then to make begging eyes at Carlotta and persuade her to share her muffins with him. Dief decided he liked hanging out with her—she was restful and didn't yap at him all the time, requiring him to keep his eyes on her face. He figured she was like him, more focused on what she could see, touch and smell. She even taught him a few handy paw movements, although he had to lie on his back or sit up on his haunches to free his front feet. Still, the gestures for "eat" and especially "doughnut" were bound to be useful.

_Still aping humans, child? All a wolf needs are his teeth, his scent, his howl and his fur, to express himself._

_Mother!_ Dief spun around. There she was, a familiar silvery gray form, lurking between the file cabinets. She watched him, very slightly insubstantial, her large yellow eyes luminous. He never knew when she'd suddenly appear, usually to chastise him for being too human. It wasn't like he'd had much choice but to join a human pack after the bear had killed her and left him a mere pup, fending for himself in the wild. He and Fraser had rescued each other. They'd had to.

She sniffed at the empty muffin plate. _I see your diet hasn't improved. How will you bring down prey when your teeth have rotted?_

 _Lovely to see you, too, Mother._ Was he really such a disappointment? Perhaps it was the memory of his fly-by-night sled-dog father? But dogs weren't monogamous, unlike wolves, so what had she expected? _My pack are good hunters. I don't go hungry._ He wasn't even going to _try_ to explain canned dog food to her. She was a traditionalist.

She lifted her nose. _I don't like it here. It smells wrong._

 _We're here to save pups,_ he explained. _I don't like how it smells either, but it's important._

She regarded him for a long moment. _Well. Your heart's in the right place even if you're as deaf as a human._

Dief glanced up at Carlotta, embarrassed even though he knew she couldn't hear his mother's insensitivity, or see her. When he turned back, the silver wolf had vanished.

He whined softly in disappointment. Carlotta reached down from where she was tapping at a machine, and stroked his head. Dief leaned heavily against her and closed his eyes.

******

Dr. Vilkas regarded them suspiciously. "I can't imagine where you got the idea that this clinic arranges adoptions, gentlemen. We're a pediatric facility, pure and simple."

"Look," Ray said, leaning in. "We know you ain't gonna advertise, not when you're . . . cutting through the red tape, like. But we're desperate."

"Indeed," Fraser added. He had his super-earnest face on. Fraser could do innocence like nobody else—Ray figured it was just as well he was on this side of the law or they'd all be fucked. "I'm not sure if you realize how much discrimination there still is against same-sex couples adopting, Dr. Vilkas. In theory it's perfectly legal, but we've met barrier after barrier. It's become apparent that the authorities are not going to give us any assistance starting a family." He reached out and took Ray's hand. Ray glanced at him, startled. "And we very much want to, Dr. Vilkas. We're a committed couple." He shot Ray a meaningful look.

"Er, yeah, right," Ray said after a moment. "Committed. That's us. We're two lovebirds in a nest. In an apartment. An apartment nest." His hand felt a little sweaty, but he wasn't sure if he should let go of Fraser's yet. He figured he'd better not wipe it on his pants.

Fraser patted his hand and let it go. Ray pulled it back, unsure what to do with it. His hand felt funny, kind of tingly. Eventually he let it rest between them, on the plush padded arm of his chair. Fraser's hands were folded in his lap.

"Well, I'm sorry you've found the public adoption system frustrating, but there really is nothing we can do about that here," Vilkas said, closing the folder containing their clinic registration form with a final-sounding snap.

"It's that goddamn assault charge on my record, right?" Ray blurted. "You punch _one_ cop in the face at a protest march when you're a kid, and whammo, it's a black mark hangin' over you the rest of your life." He threw his hands up. "I been a model citizen ever since. Gimme a break—it was fifteen years ago!"

"He was protesting about an animal testing laboratory," Fraser said confidentially to Vilkas, who was looking like Ray'd just grown a second head. "He's always loved animals."

"And children," Ray put in. "I sure do love children. So when we heard about this place and how you could help—"

"Yes. " The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Where _did_ you hear that this clinic provided . . . those kind of services, if I may ask?"

There was a pause. "Ricky told us," Ray said. Fraser shot him a frowning glance, and Vilkas pursed his lips. Ray barreled on. "Yeah, good old Ricky Lopez. We go way back. Said you'd helped him out 'cause he ran into the same sorta red tape issues. Well, not on account of being gay, that is, more . . . the other thing." He tapped his nose meaningfully. Beside him, Fraser sighed deeply and rubbed a thumb across his eyebrow.

Ray reached over and grabbed Fraser's hand again. "So how about it, doc? Can you help us?"

******

"Well, I had to say _something_ ," Ray said, waving a chicken wing. From the floor, Dief followed the arc of his hand as though attached to it by string. "He wasn't buying it, Fraser."

"A more general reference to the underworld would have been safer, Ray. What if Dr. Vilkas asks Mr. Lopez about us?" Fraser took up his chopsticks, expertly trapping a floret of stir-fried broccoli and bringing it to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, then drank some green tea. "And Vilkas wasn't convinced by the reference. In fact, I believe he was more suspicious after Lopez was mentioned."

"Nah, I reckon that was all the hand-holding. Might have overdone it some." Ray stripped the last of the meat off the chicken wing and looked dubiously at Dief, who was poised at his feet, eyes wide. "You sure it's okay to give him this? I thought chicken bones were bad for dogs?"

Fraser waved a chopstick. "He's a wolf, Ray, not a Chihuahua. In the wild he'd eat whole ptarmigans."

Ray shrugged and tossed Dief the wing bones. Dief snatched the morsel out of the air and trotted off to the kitchen with his prize. "Bring us a couple beers while you're in there," Ray called after him. Dief always treated Ray's apartment as his own.

"I'm afraid he lacks opposable thumbs," Fraser said. "Or any thumbs, really."

"Didn't stop him making those paw signals earlier," Ray said.

"Well, a certain amount of imagination was needed to understand his version of 'doughnut', but he managed 'eat' very well, I thought. Carlotta evidently spent some time teaching him ASL."

"How come she knows ASL anyway, what with she's Canadian?" Ray asked. "There's no Canadian Sign Language? Y'know, with a sign for 'thank you kindly'?"

Fraser considered this. "Well, there's LSQ—la Langue de Signes Quebeçoise. My francophone brethren are less inclined to polite pleasantries, however."

"Huh." Ray cleaned his fingers on a paper napkin and leaned back in his chair. This part of having Fraser stay over during the op was fine; they'd hung out of an evening before, chewing over a case or watching TV. It was the overnight thing that was different, that was making him antsy.

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to spend time with Fraser. He wanted it too much, was the problem.

Fraser had also finished his meal and had set the carton and chopsticks down on the coffee table. He leaned back on the couch and looked around the living room. Ray waved a hand at him. "You sure you're gonna be okay there tonight, Frase? It's kind of cramped for your legs."

"Oh, I won't need the couch, thank you, Ray. I have my bedroll. Diefenbaker and I will be perfectly comfortable on the floor."

For a brief, lunatic moment Ray almost said something about his bed being big enough for him and Fraser both, but he bit it back. Fraser'd never given Ray any indication he might be interested. Hell, Ray'd never given _Fraser_ any idea. Well, he didn't think he had, anyway. You never knew with Fraser's freaky observational skills, so maybe he could _smell_ Ray was interested. Ray shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. Best not to think about Fraser smelling him, 'cause along with smelling came ideas about tasting, and he really didn't need to be thinking about Fraser putting his mouth on him when Fraser was right goddamn there. It'd be tough enough as it was keeping his hands off himself tonight, knowing Fraser was just a few yards away in the next room.

Ray grabbed the TV Guide for camouflage and stuck it on his lap. "Uh. You wanna watch some hockey?"

******

Fraser was on statue duty at the Consulate until 1.00 p.m., and Ray was thinking about heading out to pick up some sandwiches and meet him, when his phone rang.

"Vecchio, get your ass out here." It was Abernathy, the officer manning the front desk. "I gotta dumb chick here won't talk to me. She gimme a note asking for you. Name of Carlotta McCabe."

"Yeah, real sensitive of you, Abernathy, you fucking dinosaur. She's deaf, but she lip-reads real well. Tell her I'm on my way—no, on second thoughts, put a sock in it and don't mess up any more than you already did."

Ray was no more able to read Carlotta's signing than Abernathy, but she could understand _him_ just fine and they managed pretty well with ordinary gestures. She tagged along and they met Fraser and Dief halfway to the Consulate—Ray knew Dief's preferred route that took in the maximum number of bakeries. Dief greeted Carlotta happily, wagging about her legs and yipping a welcome.

"You've made a firm friend there," Fraser said, signing as he spoke. She grinned and reached down to scratch Dief's head, then began signing in return.

"Yes, I see . . . so the little girl's name was Amy Bates?" He turned to Ray. "Ray, if you could take the bag? It's got the address Mr. Lopez gave as his when adopting the child, and a soft toy she used to cling to. Carlotta's worried Amy will be upset without it. I gather they left Amy at the clinic for most of a day before Lopez took her away, and Carlotta minded her. She became very fond of the child."

Carlotta gave Ray a plastic bag holding a stuffed bear with one glass-button eye missing. He pulled out a slip of paper with a phone number and Carlotta's name scribbled underneath it, then lower down, an address in a particularly sleazy part of town. "This ain't exactly a residential area, Fraser," Ray said.

Fraser was signing again. "No, Carlotta realizes that; it's one reason she was concerned. She didn’t like to go there herself." He nodded at Carlotta. "We'll check it out right away."

Carlotta gave them a worried smile, then waved and headed back toward the clinic. Ray showed Fraser the paper with the address. "Quicker to walk, right?" They took in a deli en route, where they got sandwiches and Ray snuck Dief some ham and a doughnut, making Fraser shake his head.

The address was obviously a brothel. It was a badly maintained two-story brick place sandwiched between seedy warehouses. Further along the street were a couple of bars, a pawn shop, and a liquor store. There was a narrow alleyway along one side of the brothel, through to the street behind. Prostitution being illegal, there were no flashing signs out front, but the faded red velour curtains and credit card decals stuck inside the windows gave it away. The madam probably had an agreement with local precinct cops not to bust the place without a tip-off phone call first.

"Yeah," Ray said. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this so-called adoption, Fraser."

"Quite so, Ray—this is clearly not a suitable residential placement. We need to check that the child, Amy, is safe, as a matter of urgency."

Ray gave him a look. "Well, _you_ can't go in there all dressed up Mountie-style like that. They're gonna smell a rat right away."

"On the contrary, Ray. I believe I'm better suited to this task than you are. The managers of such establishments tend to be highly skilled at recognizing police officers, and I believe they'd 'make' you as a detective almost immediately. I, on the other hand, will merely baffle them, and they'll know I have no jurisdiction as a member of the RCMP."

"I'm not too happy about letting you take them on alone," Ray said, but he saw Fraser's point. Christ knew what they'd think of Fraser, but they weren't likely to be as paranoid about him as they'd be about Ray. Madams could sniff out members of the CPD even if they did have experimental hair and weren't dicks like Abernathy.

"I suggest you go around the rear to make sure no one's trying to sneak the child out another way, and to look for any clues as to her whereabouts. Take Dief with you." Fraser crouched down and took the stuffed bear out of the bag, letting Dief sniff it before giving it back to Ray. Dief whined and wagged his tail.

******

After asking for the manager, Benton was ushered into the front room by a hard-faced young woman in a tight black skirt, frilly white blouse and three-inch black patent-leather spike heels. She ignored his attempts at conversation, leaving him alone with a maroon leather couch, several overstuffed armchairs, and a number of artworks in dubious taste. Benton removed his hat and leaned in to examine the large study hanging over the fireplace, depicting a nubile blonde wearing nothing but a feather boa. As he'd thought: it was painted on black velvet.

"We don't often get Mounties here, especially in the afternoon. No customers until after dark, honey, cute though the uniform is."

He turned and extended his hand. "Thank you for seeing me. Constable Benton Fraser."

"Mrs. Mulholland." She was a short, curvaceous woman in her mid-fifties with improbably red hair lacquered into a tall French roll. She was dressed in a purple suit with white piping in the style of Chanel. Angora wool, if Benton was any judge of fabrics, so possibly not a copy. She shook his hand, then continued to hold it, running her fingers over his calluses. "You've been away from the North for a while, honey."

Benton smiled and withdrew his hand. "Very astute of you, ma'am. Yes, it's been some time since I chopped firewood on a regular basis. For reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I'm now attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate."

Her red lips curved in a wicked smile. "Now, there's a pity. A good lookin' kid like yourself, I'll just bet there's all _sorts_ of things we could explore. Not to mention a few . . . junctures."

Benton cleared his throat. He was unable to blush at will, but he tried to seem a little flustered. "I, ah. My apologies for bothering you, but this is a somewhat delicate matter."

Mrs. Mulholland gestured him to a seat on the couch, and took a nearby armchair, crossing her legs to expose a great deal of plump thigh. "Delicate matters are right up our alley, Constable. I'm all ears."

"Well, I'm trying to assist a junior colleague, one of my fellow, ah, Mounties. It appears he . . . availed himself of your establishment recently, and while here, he mislaid a personal item."

"Mislaid?" The madam's tone was sharp.

"Oh yes," Benton assured her hastily, "I'm sure it was an oversight. The item concerned is of purely sentimental value."

"So what was it?"

"His lanyard."

"His what?" Her carefully painted eyebrows arched in bafflement. "What in hell's a lanyard?"

Fraser lifted his own lanyard to demonstrate, as far as was possible, given that his Sam Browne belt lay diagonally across it. "It's a traditional part of the RCMP uniform."

"It's just a bit of string, Constable. Can't he get himself a new one?"

Fraser nodded earnestly. "Oh yes, quite easily. But as I said, it's of sentimental value. This was the lanyard from his induction ceremony. His first lanyard."

"And your first is always special, huh?" She smirked at him, her eyes calculating. "There's more to it, I reckon."

Benton looked down and fidgeted with his hat, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick. "Well, he wasn't wearing his uniform when he came here, but he's superstitious about his lanyard and carries it with him even in civilian clothes. I gather the young lady he was with found it in his pocket and, ah, used it . . . in their interaction."

"In their _interaction_?" She put a sarcastic twist on the word. "You mean she tied him up with his own goddamn lanyard? Kinky."

"Er, yes," Benton said. He twisted his hat some more. "After the . . . session, he was somewhat overcome and neglected to retrieve it, but he's been fretting ever since. Not only about the sentimental value of this particular item, but I believe also the thought that it might be put to . . . a similar use with other clients. It's been troubling him."

"Listen, honey, we got every toy known to man here, cuffs and silk ropes and gags, you name it. We got no use for a grubby piece of string."

"Excellent," Benton said, giving her his best smile. "Then you'll have no objection to me looking about for it. Since there are no customers here right now."

"Yeah, no," she said flatly. "You can fuck right off with that. Unless you got a search warrant, which I'm guessing you don't."

"For a lanyard? I think not." Benton rose and she ushered him firmly out. "Well, I apologize for disturbing you."

"If we locate it, we'll mail it to the Consulate," Mrs. Mulholland said at the front door.

"Really?" Benton was momentarily startled.

She rolled her mascaraed eyes. "Fuck, no. Tell your friend we'll use it for cock and ball torture. Now piss off."

******

There were stone steps leading up to a black-painted metal door at the back of the building, and a narrower stairway going down to the basement level where there was a narrower door and small frosted-glass window. Metal railings bordered the steps and the sunken basement area. Ray tried both doors but they were locked. The basement window had a crack in one corner but it was heavily barred, so there was no point trying to break the glass. The house had no first floor windows on this side, just an expanse of chipped brick decorated by tagging.

Dief snuffled at the crack in the window and whined. "You got something?" Ray whispered, kneeling and giving him the stuffed bear again to sniff. "Find her, Dief!" Dief nosed the window again, growled, and scratched at the concrete beneath it. He looked at Ray and whined.

"You think she's in there, huh?" Ray murmured. Dief scratched some more. "Or she was, maybe, but we still gotta check it out. Can't take the chance she might still be there."

He made Dief come back up to street-level with him, in case he got carried away and started barking or something. Ray crossed the street and leaned in the entranceway to a boarded-up savings and loan joint, to get out of the chilly wind a little. He called the 2-7 on his radio and asked for back-up, telling them to send a car around to the rear entrance as well, then he waited.

After a while, Fraser emerged from the shadows of the alley, blinking as he hit daylight. Ray and Dief left their alcove and crossed over. It was a quiet street, the shops mostly disused, the bars not doing a lot of business yet.

"Get anywhere?" Ray pulled his jacket around himself against the wind.

"I'm afraid not. I invented a pretext to get the madam—a Mrs. Mulholland—to let me search the house, but she refused. She was most impolite."

Ray grinned. "Yeah, I can imagine. Look, Dief thinks the kid's in there." He pointed down. "See? There's a basement, and he smelled her down there. Doors're locked, though. Oh, and I called for back-up."

"Right you are, Ray, but I don't think we should risk waiting." Fraser trotted down the steps and pulled something from his breast pocket. A cloth roll with several metal lock-picks.

"Huh. You talked about picking locks before, Frase, but I thought that was all it was, just talk."

"A useful skill. Ethically fraught, but much of what we do fits that category." He turned the pick left, then right, concentrating intently as he spoke. "So really it's just one . . . more . . . judgement call." There was a dull click, and Fraser rolled up the picks and slipped them back in his pocket. "Voilà."

Fraser glanced back at Ray who had his gun out and raised, at the ready. Ray nodded. Carefully, Fraser turned the handle of the basement door, took a quick look inside, then opened it and stepped in. Ray and Dief followed. They were in an empty linoleum-floored passage. Two rooms opened off it, the doors closed. At the far end, stairs ascended.

Catching Fraser's eye, Ray indicated the right-hand room, the one with the cracked window, with his chin. Fraser nodded. There was a key hanging on a nail outside. Fraser unlocked the door with it and tried the door handle. The door swung open.

The little girl was thin and pale, with a long, messy braid. She sat hunched up on a mattress on the floor. Beside her were a plate with a few crumbs, and a can of soda. Ray gave Fraser the plastic bag and slid past him to check the rest of the room. There was a small windowless bathroom at the back, with a toilet and shower. The cheap tiles were cracked and mildewed, and it smelled of drains.

When Ray came back into the bedroom, Fraser was crouched down talking in a soothing voice. Dief was lying down, his tail thumping the lino. The kid had her bear back, and was hugging him fiercely. It made her look younger than she probably was; Ray put her at about seven.

Figuring that too many men crowding around her would just freak her out, Ray moved back to the door. "Gonna check out the other one," he said.

"Take Dief," Fraser said. Dief got up and padded over. Ray peered down the passage which was still empty. He took the key off the nail by the other door and unlocked it, then he and Dief went in. It was nearly identical, clearly used for the same purpose, but abandoned. He checked the main room and bathroom. A dirty rag doll with a few strands of brown wool still attached to its head lay abandoned on the floor. Ray picked it up and put it in an evidence bag. He ushered Dief out, re-locked the door and hung up the key, then crossed the passage to see how Fraser and the kid were doing.

Fraser was sitting beside her on the mattress now, and the kid was leaning against him, still holding tight to her bear. Fraser was talking softly—Ray hoped to hell it wasn't an Inuit story.

After a while they heard banging and shouts up above, and Ray stepped back into the passage to stop anyone getting out the back way. A fat older woman in a purple suit came pounding down the stairs, followed by a younger woman in a black and white waitress outfit.

Ray waved his gun at them and they swore colorfully, but he shouted them down. "Hold it right there, ladies." He held up his badge briefly. "Detective Vecchio, CPD. My colleagues from the 27th Precinct are gonna want a little word with you."

On cue, the basement door banged open and Jack Huey entered, closely followed by Dewey. Ray indicated the two women. "Abduction of a minor, probable trafficking, illegal adoption, you name it. Book 'em. We're gonna look after the kid."

There was a hold up with the emergency social worker, so they took the little girl back to the Precinct and camped out in an interview room. Fraser got her to confirm her name was Amy Bates, but other than that she pretty much clammed up, eyes wide as she stared about her. Dief leaned against her and she put her arm around him. She still had the bear in a white-knuckled grip.

An hour went by, and finally the social worker called, sounding frazzled. She was out on another case that looked set to drag on several more hours, and could they make overnight arrangements for the child? Ray said they'd think of something and hung up on her. He caught Fraser's eye and made a face, shrugging. They couldn't take her back to his apartment, not all traumatized like this. Christ, what if she'd been molested? He hoped they'd gotten to her in time, but . . .

He felt in his pocket for the slip of paper. The brothel's address, and . . . aha. Carlotta's number at the clinic. Ray checked his watch—4.45 p.m.—then grabbed the phone and dialed, muttering _c'mon, c'mon_ as the dial-tone rang. A female voice answered, and he got her to get Carlotta, who hadn't left for home yet, thank Christ. He had to talk through the receptionist so he couldn't say much, but he said her young friend had the bear back, and needed to see her pretty bad. The receptionist told him Carlotta was leaving work early and coming straight to the Precinct. Ray put down the handset and blew out a breath.

Fraser told Amy that Carlotta was on her way, and the kid's face brightened. She perked up even more when Carlotta rushed in, and they hugged, then Carlotta held Amy on her lap and rocked her, even getting her to eat a cookie Ray'd scored out of Dewey's desk, and drink a glass of milk. Carlotta beckoned Fraser over and started signing. Fraser didn't translate this time, not with the kid sitting right there. After a while, Carlotta paused, stroked Amy's hair, and nodded to Fraser that he could ask her questions.

It took some time, with Carlotta calming the child and rocking her, but they managed to find out she'd been taken from a violent foster family that Vilkas had paid off, then brought to the clinic until Lopez took her to the brothel. There, she'd been locked in the basement room by herself, but she'd been fed, and not molested. Not that the whole thing wasn't a complete trauma shitfest, but at least that was something.

Carlotta asked Fraser to call her partner, and thirty minutes later a briskly organized woman in her thirties with close-cropped auburn hair arrived and introduced herself as Emily. She and Carlotta engaged in a lightning-fast round of signing across Amy's sleeping form, then they filled in some temporary forms and headed home with the drowsy little girl, who was still clutching her bear. Dief nuzzled her, collecting a hug in return, before they left.

******

Benton followed Ray out of the Precinct, Diefenbaker bounding ahead of them. They stopped at a hole-in-the-wall hot dog vendor on the street and bolted down a rapid snack while trying to attract a cab. Benton threw Dief a sausage but he knew Dief wasn't starving, having seen him pilfer a couple of Detective Dewey's cookies. It had been a trying day and Benton would have preferred to relax over a steaming bowl of chili, but they'd already been delayed waiting for overworked social workers and if they didn't catch Vilkas at the clinic now, before he got word of the raid on the brothel, they'd most likely lose him.

It was 5.30 p.m. by the time they got there—really it would have been faster to have walked, with the city's rush hour traffic. The lobby door wasn't locked, but when they got up to the third floor the place seemed deserted, with no sign of Nurse Perez or any other staff.

"Stay here," Benton told Dief in reception. "Make sure no one else gets out." Dief wagged and hunkered down.

Vilkas was in his office, frantically trying to shred a stack of documents. "Mr. _Benton_ and Mr. _Stanley_ ," he spat, stuffing papers into the machine. "If that's what you're calling yourselves today? As though I couldn't smell cops a mile off." Benton tilted his head to acknowledge the point: their pseudonyms were indeed unsophisticated.

Ray pushed Vilkas away from the shredder. "Quit that. We got the kid, Vilkas—Amy Bates. She's okay, no thanks to you. How many others have you sold to that creep Lopez? The brothel was just a way-station, so where do they end up?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Vilkas said coldly. "And take your hands off of me."

"If you give evidence against your associates, the prosecutor's more likely to be lenient with you," Benton suggested.

 _"¡Hijos de puta!"_ Vilkas snarled. _"¡Vete a la mierda!"_  Spanish invective, interesting. It confirmed Benton's suspicions.

"Right, dickhead, so we're doin' this the hard way," Ray said, grabbing him and pushing him up against the wall. "You got the right to remain silent—"

******

Diefenbaker stared intently at the elevator doors. He was close enough to pick up vibrations if the mechanism started up again, especially lying down with his forelegs extended. The rumbling from traffic down in the street was a distraction, but he was sure he'd know if the elevator got called down to street level again. When they'd come to Chicago it had taken him a while to get used to the small moving boxes so common in the city's buildings, but Dief was nothing if not adaptable.

_The human is in here, not in the metal box._

_Mother?_ Dief leaped up, turning to look behind him. She was standing under a lit-up EXIT sign Dief had learned meant a way out of buildings; it glowed golden like her eyes. _Someone's in the stairwell?_ Humans didn't generally use emergency stairs if there was an elevator available. Well, apart from Fraser, who always preferred stairs.

_He is one level below, tracking you all like prey. He smells of fear and danger. He moves quietly, but not so quietly that I cannot hear him._

Dief's lips drew back from his teeth as he considered this. The intruder was most likely an enemy, not a member of Ray's police pack, and he doubtless had a gun. Dief could try a frontal rush, but there was a good chance he'd be shot or the man would fall backward down the stairs, and Fraser preferred him not to kill their opponents. Better to take the man from behind when his intentions were clearer and he was easier to bring down. Dief padded swiftly across the open reception area and concealed himself behind the reception desk.

 _Thanks, Mother,_ he said. _For the warning._

_Did you save the pups?_

_A young female. We may need information from this man to find others._

_A pity. He needs killing._

She faded from view. Behind her, the stairwell door slowly opened.

******

Benton and Ray were busy immobilizing Vilkas, who was stronger than his lean frame suggested. He'd knocked the cuffs out of Ray's hand and Benton was reaching for them while Ray pushed Vilkas's arm up behind his back.

"Let him go."

Benton turned, cuffs in hand, to find a stranger in the doorway. He was tall like Vilkas, with a similarly large nose, but with curling dark hair and a mustache. The man wore an expensive-looking suit and carried a pistol, which he raised to point at Benton. Benton moved slightly so as to better shield Ray with his body.

"Mr. Lopez?" Benton was already sure of the answer.

Lopez smiled coldly. "What if I am? I said release him, unless you wanna get perforated."

Benton judged Lopez unlikely to shoot as they were all piled together and there was some risk of Vilkas himself being injured. He couldn't be sure, though—Benton was the obvious target and both he and Ray were shielding Vilkas's body. Where was Dief? He had a moment of clenching fear, then realized he'd have heard the shot. Lopez's gun had no silencer and there was no smell of gunshot residue on him.

"Impressive vocabulary under pressure, Mr. Lopez. A cut above the usual street criminals we deal with."

Lopez's mouth tightened. "Quit stalling and let him the fuck go!"

"Ah, now that's more like it," Benton said. He saw Lopez's finger begin to tighten on the trigger and cursed his runaway tongue; he always did tend to blab in extremis. "Down, Ray!" he yelled, trying to throw himself back onto the others but only succeeding in knocking Ray off Vilkas and dropping the cuffs again.

There was a snarl and a scream, and Lopez's shot went wide, creasing the side of Benton's temple, the bullet knocking him to the floor before lodging in Vilkas's antique desk. Dazed, Benton saw Diefenbaker had his teeth sunk in Lopez's thigh, but Lopez still brandished the gun, staggering as he cursed and flailed at Dief with his other arm.

Benton blinked, trying to collect his scattered senses. He wasn't badly hurt, just stunned from the projectile graze. Beside him, Ray rolled fluidly to his knees, arms extended in a double-handed grip, and put a bullet unerringly into Lopez's right shoulder. Lopez dropped the gun and Dief pulled him down and straddled him, snarling.

Benton pushed himself up on hands and knees, shaking his head which was aching abominably. Suddenly, Vilkas surged up from behind Ray, screaming _"¡Mi hermano!"_   Benton saw that he'd grabbed a discarded latex glove from a wastepaper basket—surely a serious breach of sanitary waste disposal protocols—and had looped it around Ray's throat from behind, twisting it viciously to cut off his airway.

Benton staggered up and lurched over, his fist connecting with Vilkas's jaw with a satisfying crack. Vilkas fell back and Benton grabbed the damned handcuffs from the floor and finally got the man immobilized.

Nursing his bruised hand, he turned back to Ray, who was still on the floor, clutching his throat. Dear God, had Vilkas fractured his cricoid and obstructed the trachea? Surely he couldn't have, not with a rubber glove?

Benton pulled Ray's hands away and palpated his throat, which seemed fine, other than a red welt around it which was oddly raised. Ray's color wasn't good, and he was fighting for breath, thrashing and gasping.

" 'lergic," Ray croaked. "Can't—" He coughed and gasped. Anaphylaxis. It was common enough, but Benton had had no idea, Ray had never—

Thrusting his panicked thoughts aside, Benton patted Ray's pockets. Nothing. "Ray! Do you have an Epi-pen?" Ray gasped a vague negative and flailed, his movements weakening as his lips turned purple.

Desperate, Benton scrambled over and grabbed Vilkas viciously by his silk lapels. "Epi-pens—where are they?" Vilkas spat weakly at him and turned away. The man was a disgrace to his profession, if he even had a qualification, which Benton seriously doubted.

He rose and scanned the room in a panic. There! A crash cart by one wall, with a white drape covering it. He ripped off the covering to reveal a portable defibrillator and other equipment on the lower shelf, and a drug box marked with a cross on the top. He clawed it open and found several pre-loaded emergency syringes. Snatching one labeled 'epinephrine' he grabbed a tourniquet and raced back across the room.

Ray had stopped breathing, his lips now blue. Benton felt for a pulse in his neck, which was there, thank goodness, but weak and thready. He pushed up Ray's jacket sleeve, thankful for the t-shirts Ray wore winter or summer, got the tourniquet on and injected the epinephrine into a vein inside Ray's elbow, then loosened the tourniquet. An intramuscular injection in the thigh would have been easier, but every moment counted.

He laid Ray out and began mouth to mouth, checking for a pulse occasionally. Was any air getting in through his swollen throat and congested airways? Should Benton have done a tracheotomy? He'd probably do more harm than good and it wasn't a procedure he'd ever attempted, although he'd read about ball point pen shafts being inserted to save a life. There was probably an Ambu bag and oxygen cylinder on the crash cart for resuscitation, but he hadn't thought to bring them and he didn't want to leave Ray now, not for one second.

It seemed to take forever, but finally Ray's color improved and he drew a harsh breath, then another, until he was breathing more normally, with only a slight wheeze. Benton was weak with relief, almost as sick and shaky as he knew Ray must feel. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and kissed Ray gently on the lips. It was an entirely different sensation from the desperate contact of rescue breathing.

When he came to his senses and drew back, Ray's eyes were open. "Frase? Didya just kiss me?" His voice was scratchy.

"Ah, um, resuscitation. Mouth to mouth," Benton said, flushing.

"Yeah, right," Ray said vaguely. He lifted a weak hand. "Look, somethin' I gotta tell ya."

Benton's stomach clenched. Was this it? Had his foolish kiss finally broken their partnership as he'd always feared it might? He had no talent for relationships. Or rather, he had a talent for destroying them.

There was no time for this. He asked Ray to wait a moment then went to the phone on Vilkas's desk and dialed 911, arranging an ambulance and describing the medical situation succinctly. Then he called the Precinct to come and secure Vilkas and Lopez.

He returned to Ray and checked him again anxiously. Ray put a hand on his arm. His voice was weak so Benton leaned in.

"Thing is, 'm allergic t' latex," Ray gasped.

Benton managed not to throttle him all over again. "Yes, I gathered that, Ray, when you almost _died_ just now." He shut his eyes briefly, fighting for control. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I just wish you'd told me earlier."

Ray shrugged a shoulder. His eyes closed again. "Genrlly try not t' think 'bout it," he whispered.

Benton stared down at him, shaking his head. He brushed a strand of hair off Ray's face. _You and I both, Ray_.

Over by the door, Lopez thrashed a little and spat some more curses. Dief shifted his weight on the man's chest and snarled into his face. In the distance, Benton heard sirens.

******

Ray felt pretty woozy and a little stoned from the antihistamine stuff they'd given him, but his chest had lost the horrible tightness and he could breathe easy. The doc had said they were keeping him overnight in case of a bipolar reaction or something. Ray didn't see how the allergy could make him manic depressive, but whatever. He opened his eyes—he kept nodding off, what with the drugs. Fraser was sitting by the bed.

"Hey," Ray said, remembering. "Where's Dief?"

"Once I was sure you were out of the woods I took Dief over to Carlotta and Emily's," Fraser said. "I didn't want to leave him at the Consulate or your apartment by himself after everything that had happened."

"Good plan," Ray said, blinking sleepily. "Amy likes Dief. Be good for her. They seem like nice people. You think they might wanna keep Amy?"

"I was wondering that as well; let's cross our fingers. Anyway, they sent best wishes for your recovery."

"And yours." Ray waved a hand at the bandage on the side of Fraser's temple where he'd finally let the hospital staff check him out and clean up the bullet graze.

Fraser put a hand on Ray's arm. "I'm fine, Ray. It's you who had us all worried there."

"I'm okay now. Hey, I was thinkin'. Vilkas an' Lopez, they looked like they were related, but they ain't got the same name."

"I gather they're brothers, Ray. From Colombia, so Vilkas is doubtless an assumed name, since it's Lithuanian. I suspected they were brothers from the names—they both mean wolf."

Ray gazed at Fraser, blinking. "You know the weirdest things, Frase. You're a centipede. I mean a catterpedia. A cyclopod. Thingy."

"Well, I do _live_ with a wolf, Ray. I've done quite a bit of wolf-related reading across the years, and Dief's interested as well. He likes nature documentaries and has an appalling fondness for B-movies featuring werewolves— _An American Werewolf in London_ is our favorite, although Lon Chaney's always excellent. We draw the line at _Teen Wolf Too_ , though."

"Uh huh." Ray grinned, then took Fraser's hand. "Hey. Thanks for savin' me."

"You're very welcome, Ray. But I still haven't forgiven you for not telling me sooner about the latex allergy. That could have caused all sorts of serious problems—it very nearly did, in fact."

"Yeah, I guess after I got it the first time, I tried not to think about it. I was embarrassed. Stella went on the pill and it stopped bein' an issue."

"Ah," Fraser said, flushing slightly. "I see." He looked away.

Ray swallowed. "Look, Frase, there's something else I ain't come clean with you about, that I reckon I should. What with almost kicking the bucket there—it's made me think."

Fraser turned back to him. "Yes, Ray?"

"It's . . . I . . . aw hell, c'mere an' I'll show you." Ray reached out and pulled Fraser in close, then kissed him. "Mmm. Wanted to do that for a while."

Fraser pulled back, staring intently at Ray. "Are you sure this isn't the drugs affecting you?"

"What, like that bipolar reaction they warned me about?" Ray considered. He didn't feel he was on a high. A little drowsy, but mostly just relieved he'd finally had the guts to kiss Fraser.

Fraser frowned. "Bipolar?" His face cleared. "Oh, you mean the risk of a biphasic reaction. No, no, you're not having one of those." He cleared his throat, looking a little flushed. "But it's why you can't come home tonight. You might get wheezy again later."

"Pity." Ray grinned at him. "Like to do some more of that." He bit his lip. "You ain't mad at me for kissing you out of the blue?"

Fraser smiled and took Ray's hand. "Hardly out of the blue, Ray, and I kissed you first, back in the clinic."

"Hah! Thought I remembered that. You pretended it was rescue breathing!"

Fraser flushed a little more. "Yes, well, I'm not as brave as you, Ray."

"Not as stupid, you mean." Ray grinned and squeezed his hand.

Fraser pursed his lips. "Well, it _was_ foolish concealing the latex allergy from me. I still haven't entirely forgiven you for that. What if we’d needed to use . . ." He waved a hand, coloring.

"Aw, Frase, there are plenty of non-latex brands. Or we could piggy-back, right?"

Fraser looked baffled, then rolled his eyes. "I think you mean _bareback_ , Ray." There was a pause, then they both dissolved into snorts of laughter. When they'd recovered, Fraser leaned in and they kissed properly, leaving Ray flushed and panting when he drew back.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid I've knocked your nasal oxygen cannula askew," Fraser muttered, fussing with the tubing. "My apologies, Ray. We should probably leave this until you're feeling better."

Ray grinned and pulled him back in. "Nah—c'mon, Fraser. Take my breath away."

******

"So he finally hooked up with the Yank," Robert Fraser said from the foot of the hospital bed. It was well after midnight and Ray was lying propped up on several pillows, snoring lightly, his left hand clasped in Fraser's right, which was lying on the covers. Fraser was asleep in an armchair beside the bed, stetson over his face.

"About time," said the silver wolf. "They've been playing mating games for months now. My son is considerably more direct with his liaisons."

"He hasn't exactly mated for life, though, has he?" Fraser Senior said, looking down at her.

Diefenbaker's mother huffed. "He takes after his father in that. Once a dog, always a dog; I should have known better."

Fraser Senior turned back to the bed. "They do all right, don't you think? The three of them? Rescued that little girl pretty well."

"Saving pups is always a good thing," the silver wolf agreed. "And they have each other, now. The pack will be stronger with them mated."

"Hmph, maybe so. But how they put up with it down here in the heat and the city stink, I have no idea." Robert Fraser sounded baffled. "Give me snowy mountains, the sharp tang of spruce trees, and ice on the wind."

"A human after my own heart." The silver wolf grinned up at him. "Shall we?"

A moment later, Ray and Fraser had the room to themselves.

******

the end


End file.
